


rhymes of yesterday

by livtontea



Series: might you live to see the sunrise [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lowercase, Mild Gore, No Incest, Not Beta Read, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 16:08:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21412936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livtontea/pseuds/livtontea
Summary: when you are taken in by your father, you are designated number one—the leader.
Series: might you live to see the sunrise [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1544566
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	rhymes of yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> luther deserves love too, okay? and i love him, in all of his sad glory.  
the lowercase is intentional.  
enjoy!
> 
> title from [one](https://youtu.be/HNjEPHvDxZQ)

when you are taken in by your father, you are designated number one—the leader. the man eyes the seven of you, all lined up in a neat little row, each one bearing soft cheeks and pudgy arms and legs—as babies do—and points. one, two, three, four, five, six, and seven. neat, orderly, simplistic; cold, cruel, emotionless. he didn’t even bother giving you names, much less thinking about the monikers he gave you. all he did was point—a slender finger placing a role onto each of you; your very own burden to bear. but you don’t know that, you don't know any of that; you’re a sleeping infant with his eyes closed and his thumb jammed into his mouth.

when you are older—old enough to count, old enough to know what your name means—you come to find that you’re important. you’re needed. you’re essential to the functionality of your team, of your father’s team. you stand by his side, and he tells you,  _ good job _ , and you grin—already feeling your chest inflate with pride; already feeling the warmth of affection to your father bloom in your core. the man doesn’t smile back—he never does—but you can tell that he means it. your siblings stare at you with what reads as jealousy in their eyes.

you’re number one. the leader, the pillar, the responsible and reliable child. still, you find yourself struggling to sleep at night as your muscles ache from exertion and as your heart beats fast after you had to lift more than twice your own weight over your head. your arms ache, and you can hear your sister crying in the next room over, but you don’t do anything about it. the voices in your head call you weak, and you don’t disagree.

you’re all ten when you’re lined up in front of your mother. she points at you—one, two, three, four, five, six, and seven—and gives you names. you wonder why; you have a name, you all already have names, so what use is there for a second one? or third—your public alias remains close to you;  _ spaceboy. _ you don’t know why you’re called that, and you don’t ask.  _ luther, _ is what you will be called now, your mother says with a smile.  _ luther, diego, allison, klaus, five  _ (why didn’t he get another name? you’re scared to ask, and so you don’t. better to stay silent than to show the weaknesses building up behind your skin),  _ ben, vanya. _ seven brand new names for seven children, each one of you thanking mom and then going along on your merry way.

you roll your new self around your tongue as you train; you’re allowed to do it alone, because dad trusts you. you never disappoint him. (not when it comes to this.) _luther._ and then your last name—_hargreeves._ _luther hargreeves._ it doesn’t fit quite as well as _number one_, you don’t think, but… it’s alright. you could get used to this. 

_ luther _ is what your brother says as he asks you into his room;  _ check over this, _ he says, thrusting rows and rows of equations at you.  _ they need to be right _ — _ they need to be perfect. _ you look over them, because that’s what a good leader and a good brother would do. you’ve always loved math, and science, and space. maybe it’s because of what you’re called in front of cameras—maybe it’s just you. either way, you’ve found the same spark of interest in your brother; and if he is more involved in it all, much more analytical of the numbers dancing across pages, spends much more time poring over books and essays and equations and theorems than you ever could, takes more of his free time locked up in his room detailing solutions across his walls than you could ever even think of doing; so what? he’s figuring out how to improve himself. that’s the goal for all of you, isn’t it?

when five leaves and doesn’t come back, you run your fingers over the cover of the book he gave you a long while ago, and try to ignore the dust left on your hand—along with the simmering feeling of guilt in your gut accompanied by your mind chorusing:  _ it’s all your fault. _

_ luther  _ is the name that’s called out as you watch the tentacles shred and rip and tear at your brother; you’re paralyzed. the blood sprays everywhere. all you can think is how this isn’t right,  _ this isn’t supposed to be happening, why is this happening— _ and then ben’s throat is gone and a wet gurgle reaches your ears as he collapses to the ground. klaus rushes over to him and so does allison, your siblings’ eyes blown wide with fright, shock, fear, disbelief, and already—grief. they beg and scream and do everything they can do, which is to say, nothing. absolutely  _ nothing _ can be done, and you stand paralyzed, your blazer stained red.

_ luther _ is what's said as your brother beats his fists against the wall, the floor, his own thighs, your chest; trying to beat his delusions and lies into you, trying to convince you that he's  _ here, ben is here, luther, he's here he's here he's here come on you HAVE to believe me, please believe me, LUTHER— _ and then you wrap your hands around his wrists, and pull him away from you, and he's still thrashing in your grip, telling you that your brother who  _ died _ because of _ you _ is still here and you tell him  _ stop lying, klaus _ , and you push him away and turn away and do your best not to run away from his sobbing shape—he's on the floor now, curling into a ball and rubbing at his eyes, ugly crying into his knees—into you room. but you do, you  _ do _ , you run and you run and then you're in the gym running and running faster and then running faster still and your legs are burning and your chest hurts more with every breath you take, but you  _ don't. stop. running _ . 

klaus is gone soon after that.

your sister leaves. allison departs, giving you a firm hug and a pat on the back, and kind words that you barely process. she packs up her bags and leaves, and then vanya does too, except much quieter and more discreet. one morning you wake up, and she's just… gone. you go through you day very carefully (and pointedly) not thinking about how now two brothers and both sisters have left the house, one way or another. allison calls, sometimes, but the conversations you have are few and far between. vanya doesn't. you don't know why you ever thought she would. because you're family, you guess, and family is supposed to be there for one another.

_ and look at how well that worked out for you, _ says the little voice in your head that sometimes sounds like five and sometimes like ben and now it sometimes sounds like allison or vanya too.  _ look at how close you all are. look at the shattered thing you're calling a family. it's all your fault. _

_ shut up, _ you tell it, but you know it's right.

diego leaves, and he tells you to leave too. you don't, of course. you don't think you feel anything as you watch him get into a car that he bought somewhere and drive off (and when did he learn how to drive?), looking over his shoulder once, and his eyes are filled with annoyance, anger, and pity. the doorknob you're still holding is crushed in on itself, and you go find pogo to tell him he'll have to order a new one. it's replaced next morning, like you didn't break it in the first place, and like diego was never there in his car, silently pitying you as he drove away.

you read vanya's book. you hate it, but you read it anyway, every word. you hate how she weaved herself to be the lonely heroine of the story—even though it wasn't  _ her _ story, it was yours. all of yours.you each had a part of your shared story, and they weren't all the same, clearly, because the things she says about dad not loving any of you are outright lies. he loved you then, and he loves you now. you want to throw the book into the fireplace and watch it burn, but instead you slot it on the bookshelf; in case dad wants to read it later.

you… number one just— it isn’t you, not anymore. you’ve grown into luther, and you’ve let yourself become him. you’re not  _ number one _ or  _ spaceboy _ , you’re  _ luther, _ and you like being luther. your dad calls you number one again, and you don’t argue a second time.

and then there’s a gap—the mission—and you wake up wrong. you wake up, and your body is not your own. you wake up, and your world is different. you wake up, and you are not yourself anymore. you don’t know who you are. no calls are made—you make sure nobody except for dad, mom, and pogo know about the monstrous creature you have become. 

(and if something nags at the back of your mind, whispering that  _ it’s not your fault; dad was the one who made you this way _ , well, when has that little voice ever been helpful before? you ignore it, and pack your bags like your siblings did so long ago.)

on the moon, only yourself and your plant to keep you company, you’re so goddamn lonely. if this is how vanya felt, if her loneliness ate at her the same way it eats at you now, if she felt like you do now, if she’s like you, then you find that you hate her less—maybe, one could even say, you start to forgive her. 

you—man on the moon, spaceboy, number one—finally get to know loneliness. _ congratulations, luther hargreeves, _ the voice hisses inside your mind.  _ now you’re finally the monster everyone always saw you would become. _

and you don’t deny it. you water your plant, and claw at your skin when it starts to wilt. what a great leader you turned out to be.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is [@seven-misfits](https://seven-misfits.tumblr.com/) if you want to find me there. drop a line, i'd love to know what you thought!
> 
> luther fucking deserves better,, okay,, he's just,, he's doing his best, y'all are just mean. please give luther love,, please.


End file.
